photo Philip White
Barossa parishes: really old hat
Subregions: time for precision
Rocks kill Luther's flavour stakes
by PHILIP WHITE
Louisa Rose, boss winemaker of the mighty Yalumba, and
Julie Ashmead, of Elderton, hosted the annual Vintage Barossa Shiraz Tasting
last week. As usual, we examined
unfinished one-year-old barrel samples: wines from many makers, made with
minimal sophistry in neutral one-year-old oak.
I give deep thanks to Louisa and her boss, Yalumba owner
Rob Hill Smith, for funding and mounting such an expensive, slickly-delivered
professionalism.
Very vaguely, these wines are sorted into
sub-regions. To a degree, these roughly reflect the
Barossa's four basic geologies, which, in turn, can be divided into another
eleven sub-regions. When we started this
exercise years ago, Louisa's predecessor, Brian Walsh, suggested the wines be
sorted according to the boundaries of the Lutheran parishes. I sometimes think that would have made just
as much sense, given the Barossa's reluctance to actually observe its fairly sharp
geological boundaries.
Like, modernist evangelical Lutherans are sure to grow
flavours radically different to those the old traditionalists manage, even if their
church is just across the road from yours.
You gotta be kidding.
photo Philip White
Whatever their region or religion, folks in the business are
reluctant to admit that some of their number may have planted in less than
ideal places. Nobody wants to be on the
wrong terroir, and big grape buyers don't want those growers who are on
obviously better geologies demanding higher prices.
If you believe the dogma preached by the whitecoats at
the University of Adelaide's Waite winemaking campus, geology has bugger-all
influence anyway. They seem to believe
that vine roots are incapable of transmitting the varying flavours of rocks to
their berries. When the Commonwealth Serum and Industrial Research Organisation reported
last year that eucalypts can suck gold from the ground and pump it up twenty or
thirty metres to the leaves in their crowns, I confess to committing a quiet
snigger.
Of course geology is only part of terroir. Altitude,
climate, proximity to ocean, human influence, the weight of the gold: all have vital roles to play. It
was obvious this year that while the sub-regions always produce fruit of
varying distinction, they don't do the same thing every year. This obviously has as much to do with the way
different spots react to different weather patterns throughout the year as it
does to the climate differences from one year to another.
A good example is the way the fruit of the young Lyndoch
Valley alluviums generally remind me of the pretty florals of northern
Beaujolais; think Moulin-à-Vent, Chiroubles and Morgon. The 2013 vintage put these dainties into the
Eden Valley wines instead, where the rocks are 500 million years older than that junior Lyndoch dirt. Funny.
After each class was tasted, a blend was made of all its
components, in equal proportion, regardless of their quality. This was most telling.
The group called "Foothills" confused 500
million year old Cambrian rocks with million-year-old Pleistocene alluvium
between Saltram and Bethany. Regardless,
the wines shared a character reminiscent of burnt nightshade greens and
Solanine, which mysteriously mellowed and evaporated into/out of the blend, eventually making
a sweet, open and easy wine, smelling like Ditters exemplary dried fruit and nut mix.
photo Philip White
This confusion of old and very new geologies continued
south along the piedmont in the "Krondorf/Rowland Flat" class, which
also showed those dark nightshade greens.
Their blend was more hearty, with fermented charcuterie meats and
fruitcake complexity.
The "Lyndoch/Williamstown" group shared Guylian
milk chocolate and chocolate crême caramel smoothness, with appropriately
gentle tannins and a better balance of what looked like natural acidity. The young Pleistocene alluviums here are at a
higher, cooler altitude than the Barossa floor, probably explaining that lovely
acidity.
We jumped then to the ancient Cambrian rocks of the Eden
Valley, where again some vineyards are in quite youthful alluviums. The Eden Valley/Craneford wines were pretty
to sniff, with confectioner's sugar, fairy floss and musky tones common amongst
their florals and cherries, blueberries, blackcurrants and mulberries. Their blend was a stunning, well-formed and
balanced wine of great allure and promise.
photo Philip White
North of there, the Mt McKenzie/Keyneton wines were more
complex, with prunes, dates and figs comprising the fruits division. Their blend smelled like a pannacotta soaked
in fine Nebbiolo with a schoosh of perfect nitrous oxide whipped cream on top; its palate a
soft, silk-then-velvet comfort which seemed classically Barossan, if in the
older-fashioned manner.
"Light Pass/Nuriootpa" is composed pretty much
of young Pleistocene and Holocene alluvium, where the fruit displays bright
eucalyptus after floods dump leaves there.
It was fascinating that these wines had little overt eucalypt in this
vintage, but their soft leathery aromas, quince paste, and fig and prune
conserve fruits nevertheless reminded me of mudflat Langhorne Creek Shiraz,
which is recent riverine alluvium often renown for its eucalypt. Some had quite bright blackcurrants,
mulberries and blackberries, which receded in the composite blend. The master
blender of those Larncrk wines was John Glaetzer of Wolf Blass, whose name made
its way into several of my notes. The
Kaesler Patel vineyard even had me scratching "Glaetzer Jimmy Watson
1976".
Next came "North Barossa", which included wines
from the same young alluviums, but extending out across the 600 million year
old Wilpena Group siltstones underlying St Kitts. These were breathtaking in their intensity,
their carbon, soot and leather, their ripe juniper - and all manner of dark
berries - their soft, alluring mid-palates and Cape Fear tannins, which will
demand many years of cellar. This won my
second-highest points, squeezing 93-94+++ from the same sensories which had
been awarding 80 or lower in previous categories.
"Moppa Greenock" is another collective which
covers both very young and extremely old geologies, from the milky bubba Pleistocene
to the relatively druid-like 750 million year old Burra Group. There's also a good deal of Rowland
Flat Sand, which is the Barossa's equivalent of McLaren Vale's beloved Maslin
Sand (same age; same source in the ancient Mt Lofty Ranges). The wines
nevertheless showed incredible consistency, complexity, and depth. 'NO OTHER
REGION CAN DO THIS!' my scribble screams delightedly, 'KALIMNA!' Tar, prunes, iron, coke, briquettes, gun
blue, Parade Gloss bootpolish, aniseed balls, Choo Choo Bars ... these
descriptors tended to overwhelm the black stone and berry fruits and black
olives that reappeared throughout this incredible class. 'Supple, luxurious - a glorious, hypnotising
WALLOW with perfect balance' I wrote of the blend, '94+++ points.'
Tasting room anklewear on the right? This spitproof tackle is guaranteed to deter/defeat the ankle vipers, asps and tumbleweed prickles you find all over floors like this Yalumba job in the Signature Cellar ... note that none of the brilliant women in this room are wearing cargo pants
"Seppeltsfield/Marananga" covers another vast
stretch of the Barossa's oldest and newest geologies, and the wines showed much
more variation than the previous lot. If
there is an overall comment, let it be that these individuals had softer,
pudgy, fleshy fruits with sweeter, softer, caramel and fudgy tones with furry
tannins. Those tannins were much tighter
and more focussed in the composite blend.
"Stonewell/Dorrien" is similarly confused
geologically, ranging from ironstone atop Rowland Flat sands (another repeat of
McLaren Vale, as in Yangarra/Blewett Springs) to much different and more recent
muddled alluvium. The winemaking and
viticulture varied so widely here that I think the class was a fine example of
human influence being a very important part of terroir, in the sense that the
humans hadn't done a very precise job of it, so the wines had little chance of
reflecting their source.
There were only two wines from Gomersal, from very
different geologies. However while both
seemed soft and easy and open-hearted as individuals, their blend was tighter
and more intense, just like the "Seppeltsfield/Maranaga" wines. Interestingly, one of the Gomersal wines came
from the same ancient Upper Burra Group which re-emerges between Seppeltsfield
and Marananga.
photo Philip White
So. What does all this mean?
First, you should expect some stunning
Barossa Shiraz from 2013.
Second, blending, even within a sub-region, smoothes lots
of bits out in some cases, and adds focus and precision in others.
Third, I reckon my preference for chunky old rocks and
the more granular, coarser sands, rather than young, fine-grained alluvial
dusts, podsols and clays, is once again justified.
Fourth: if folks insist from the start that geology makes no
difference, they
won't really learn much about the very basis of terroir.
Fifth: expect some knockout Shiraz soon from Yalumba.
photo George Grainger Aldridge
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